


Say Goodnight

by ab2fsycho



Series: Revolve [4]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: M/M, actual creeper Descole, always gotta help a frienemy in need, because let's face it, but we shall see, gentleman Layton, i'm ignoring vital information and i'm not sorry, now it's kinda one-sided, they're frienemies now, up until now it's technically been pre-slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1373137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Ambrosia, the tension between Layton and Descole thickens. Descole realizes that something has to change if he's to remain at odds with Layton. Otherwise, things are going to get extremely complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Goodnight

Ambrosia was a lovely place, especially at night. However, things would have been a lot lovelier had Layton not been trudging through the jungle looking for a certain masked individual. Grosky had a simple enough time finding his pants. Why was it so much harder for Professor Layton to find one Jean Descole?

Why was he searching for the man? For one, he had to have been injured from the fall off his gigantic robot. Layton couldn’t just leave him out there. Also he felt the need to remind Descole that he had almost killed Luke, Emmy, Layton, and the others all at once. Layton found himself thinking that Descole might not be breathing when he found him, and that somehow worried him. He’d be rid of a stalker and a rival, but the circumstances didn’t sit well with him. Layton remembered watching Descole fall. No one could possibly survive that.

Shaking his head, Layton continued along his path through the woods. Luke and Emmy were safe with the other survivors, heading home with Inspector Grosky as an escort. Layton was the last on the island, a boat having been left for him to depart in alone. Or with Descole. Or with Descole’s body. Again he shook his head, concerned about what he might find. If the man was awake, which he doubted would be the case, he would likely still be so furious with Layton that he’d attack despite his wounds.

It was then that he heard a snap in the branches above him. Looking up, he saw the silhouette of a familiar figure being held up by thin branches of the canopy. The hat and boa were missing, but Layton recognized the figure all the same. One of the branches had snapped as the man had begun to rouse. “Descole?” Layton called up to him. The man twisted, a gasp escaping his lungs as he heard the professor’s voice. His movement caused the branches holding him up to bow and give, and soon Descole was tumbling downward to the forest floor. He cried out as he descended, and before he could hit the ground Layton intercepted his fall. Both men grunted in surprise as they crumpled to the ground, Descole landing on top of Layton’s midsection and knocking the breath out of the professor. 

Well, this was certainly not the first time Layton had found himself trapped beneath Descole. However, it was the first time the other man had been equally alarmed by the encounter. As both men regained their faculties, Descole’s whimpers of pains turned to snarls of rage. “Layton!” he growled as he realized just who had caught him. Layton stiffened as Descole went to sit up, thinking that his rival would attempt to strangle him to death. However, the man instead cried out again and fell on his side. Rolling onto his back, the parts of his face Layton could actually see contorted into expressions of agony. Judging by the way Descole was cradling one arm to his chest, something had been broken. The same could possibly be said for his limp right leg. Layton sat up successfully, his body still aching from Descole’s landing but in nowhere near as bad a shape as his rival’s. When Layton reached for him though, the man jerked away as much as he could without hurting himself further and shouted, “Don’t touch me!”

“You’re injured,” Layton argued.

“And it’s your fault!” Descole tried to sit up on his own, but wound up falling backwards and hitting his head against the dirt. Moaning, he looked like he wanted to curl up and disappear from the pain.

“Well, you can’t deny that you played a major role in your own downfall. You did lose your temper quite drastically,” Layton reasoned.

Descole’s face reddened as he turned what Layton assumed to be a glare upon him. With the flash of his uninjured hand, Descole swatted at Layton’s head. Layton dodged it in the nick of time. “Go away!” Descole growled as Layton scooted out of his rival’s reach. Despite his injuries, Descole managed to boost himself up onto his unbroken arm and yell, “I don’t need your help!”

“Well, I’m not going to leave you here like this,” Layton said, holding his hands up. This was a far cry from the reaction Layton had witnessed upon slicking the floor of his residence to catch Descole using his preferred exit. Then again, the situation that had led to this injury had been much more serious. Layton could understand Descole’s frustration, but at the same time it was hindering his ability to aid the man.

“Save the gentleman routine for your colleagues. I’ll be fine on my own,” Descole grumbled, lying back down.

Layton quirked an eyebrow and sighed at the familiarity of this discussion. “You are a toddler.”

“What?!”

“You are. You throw a tantrum when things don’t go your way, then you refuse to be helped. You are a toddler.”

Though his face was red and his temper flaring up again, Descole did little more than glare at Layton for the comment. When the professor slid up closer to him, Descole’s scowl deepened. “I told you to go away!”

“And I said I’m not leaving you here.” Without asking permission (because honestly, Descole wasn’t in the state of mind to consent to what Layton planned to do), the professor reached for his rival’s necktie.

Descole jerked his head away, his muscles visibly tensing. “No! What are you doing?!”

“Making a sling for your arm.”

As he reached for the tie again, Descole twisted out of Layton’s reach. This process continued for several minutes. “No! Don’t touch—!”

“Hold still.”

“You have no right!”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Keep your hands off!”

“Honestly, Descole?”

“I will have my retribution!”

“Well, you’ve got to heal before you can get back at me.”

“LAYTON!” he yelled just as the professor wrapped his fingers around the tie and made a fist around the fabric.

Descole froze, staring up at Layton as if he were going to take advantage of his fragile state. How ironic. Only a while ago Layton had felt the same way toward Descole, the man who broke into the professor’s house regularly. It was disorienting seeing someone go from being furious to petrified in a matter of seconds. For the life of him, Layton couldn’t explain why it bothered him that he was the source of Descole’s terror. He would much rather the man argue with him, because while it was inconvenient (and at times entertaining) it was also warranted. Layton felt he hadn’t truly done anything to make Descole fear him, and that therefore someone had in the past. That is, someone had taken advantage of Descole’s vulnerability. Why did that bother Layton so much? Exhaling loudly, Layton began undoing the necktie and reassured Descole, “You’ve had plenty of opportunity to cause me bodily harm while I was unarmed, and yet you haven’t yet. Conversely, I haven’t truly harmed you during your break-ins.” He thought about the incident with the shortening, then clarified, “Not intentionally, at least. Allow me to return the favor.”

Despite the reassurance, Descole shivered as the tie slid from his neck. “You’re serious,” he stated almost inaudibly.

“If I’m going to fight you, it’s going to be fair. This would not be a fair fight. You may not abide by the exact same rules, but I still owe you something.”

“Hmph. You owing me.” Descole continued grumbling about how ridiculous that sounded as Layton wrapped the tie around his forearm before securing it around Descole’s neck.

“Though you scoff at me for it, I am a gentleman. Gentlemen don’t turn their backs on someone who is injured, no matter the circumstances.” Layton thought to himself for a moment, then added, “Granted, attacking Luke and I with a giant robot while we were trying to save Melina wasn’t exactly fair.”

“You interfered in my affairs, therefore nullifying my word on not harming any of you.”

“Now Descole, you and I both knew I would get involved in this game of yours. In fact, I think you intended for it to happen.”

Descole said nothing. He simply turned his head and refused to address the topic at hand, as he tended to do whenever Layton made a direct accusation of that nature. Catching him unawares, Layton took the opportunity to slide his arms beneath Descole’s shoulders and knees and lift him off the ground. “Wait, wh-what are you—?” his rival inquired, but Layton accomplished his task so quickly that Descole hardly had time to struggle. Once up, however, Descole let out a bellow that was a mixture of discomfort, embarrassment, and rage. “Put me down!” he demanded as he writhed in Layton’s arms. The squirming didn’t last as he once again dissolved into whimpers. By the time he said, “Unhand me,” his demands were little more than agonized whispers.

“Keep twitching and you’ll hurt yourself even more. I intend to get you to safety and find you some medical attention no matter how opposed to my help you are.”

“You can go straight to hell for this!”

“Descole, I’m surprised at you. Such language.” Layton couldn’t help but smirk at the man’s loss of composure. It was more fascinating to behold than the professor might have expected, especially since he’d already witnessed similar in his place of residence.

“Oh stuff it, Layton!” Descole gasped, likely reacting to a shooting pain he was experiencing in one of his broken limbs. Layton was certain that the agony was the one thing keeping Descole from fighting.

As he carried Descole back through the woods towards where the boat was stationed, he asked, “You aren’t bleeding anywhere, are you?”

“If I was, I would have smeared it on you by now.”

“I’m more concerned about broken ribs, which have the potential to puncture lungs. I suppose if you haven’t spat blood on my face yet, then your organs are alright.”

Judging by the groans Descole was unleashing, the man might not have agreed with Layton at the time. The longer Layton ventured through the forest, the less coherent Descole began to seem. The man’s body was covered in sweat that Layton could feel even through his clothes. Descole didn’t even make a snarky comeback when the professor stumbled. He just let out another gasp of anguish and trembled uncontrollably for a few seconds. Proceeding apace, Layton became hyperaware of Descole’s frequent gasps and quiet exclamations of pain. It wasn’t until Layton began hearing the sounds of the shore again that Descole asked, “What are your motives?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“What’s the real meaning behind this?” his rival rephrased.

“Hmph,” Layton huffed, considering the question. “I haven’t lied to you in previous encounters. What makes you think that’s changed?”

“No one acts without ulterior motives,” Descole said, the statement coming out a bit breathless. “No one helps someone just for the sake of decency.”

“A gentleman does,” Layton corrected him as he stepped out onto the shore, a salty breeze greeting him and clinging to his clothing. Layton again thought of how he’d helped Descole before. He recalled the man’s suspicious looks and hesitation then. “Maybe next time you set out to unearth some ruins you should take care not to place yourself in such a precarious position.”

“You sound so certain that there will be a next time,” Descole griped as they neared the boat.

“Of course there will be. You being a humble scientist and all, why shouldn’t you go exploring again?” Layton had to keep himself from making a jibe at the notion of Descole being described as humble. According to Luke, those very words had come from Descole’s own mouth. Of course he would describe himself as humble.

Approaching the boat, Layton set Descole up on one end. The other man cried out when Layton tried to adjust his leg so it wouldn’t receive an even worse beating as they travelled back across the sea. When Layton turned to start the motor on the boat, however, he was met with a swift club to the head dealt to him by a man he had not seen or heard running across the sand towards him.



“You are wounded, Master. How may I assist you?” Raymond asked after knocking Professor Layton out.

Descole shifted, cringing from the pain that wracked his whole being. “Let’s just leave this place.” This whole incident had been nothing but a great big disappointment, and the man responsible for its disastrous ending was slumped over at the other end of the boat.

“What about the professor, sir?” his faithful servant asked. “Should we leave him behind?”

The thought of the great Professor Layton being left stranded on the island was truly tempting. However, for some unbeknownst reason, Descole found himself hesitating to answer. He was livid with his rival, that much was certain. Was he livid enough to ignore the fact that Layton had been willing to find and pull him from the scene of his downfall? Honestly, what right did the professor have? What nerve to disguise himself as some altruistic hero? There was a darkness to Layton, and yet the man seemed incapable of showing it. Either that or he was truly unaware of its presence. The latter seemed the most likely option, and Descole wasn’t sure how he should feel about that.

He’d spent a great deal of time researching the professor. The professor’s memory was truly terrible. It was surprising he would remember the year let alone where he had seen Descole before. That was neither here nor there. The point was, he’d studied Professor Hershel Layton like a book just to find nothing. He was, as he liked to remind various individuals, simply a gentleman. There didn’t seem to be any motive for him to act as he did other than to answer the call of a person in need. How could such selflessness exist in someone like Layton? Descole didn’t understand.

There was a certain appeal to how helpless Layton looked while asleep or otherwise unconscious. It was almost as appealing as seeing the professor struggle to maintain a clear mind in the face of danger. Lately, Descole had not been able to elicit that reaction from Layton. It seemed the professor had come to see Descole as less of a threat despite his knowledge of the masked individual’s nightly activities. If anything, Descole’s constant monitoring of Layton seemed to have desensitized him to his rival. The infuriating man ever fascinated Jean Descole. “I supposed we should show him the courtesy he intended to show me,” Descole finally answered Raymond.

Nodding, Raymond prepared to push off the shore of Ambrosia. “And once we arrive, sir?”

“He’ll come awake soon after. He should be fine if we leave him in the boat, at least.”

“As you wish, Master.”

The next morning they arrived at the port where the deadly game had begun. With Raymond’s help and despite his fractured limbs, Descole did in fact manage to wait around to ensure Layton was indeed found by well-meaning individuals.



Eight weeks later, his leg had healed enough that he no longer needed help walking. His arm, on the other hand, remained in a cast and sling as per Raymond’s wishes. Once the opportunity arose, Descole found himself in a familiar location: at the foot of Hershel Layton’s bed watching the professor sleep.

After checking through the house (no new information had arisen and the apprentice brat was in the spare bedroom fast asleep), Descole had stopped here just as he’d done countless times before. Only this time, he was seeing things a bit differently. Before, Layton had been a mere fascination and someone he enjoyed toying with. He hadn’t been able to discern the nature of the joy he found himself experiencing every time he tricked the professor, but he knew he felt it all the same. Now he was in a predicament. He was beginning to feel too comfortable with the professor. He’d never intended to harm the man, only outwit him. He’d also never intended to harbor anything other than indifference towards him, excluding of course the occasional stroke of pride he felt in besting him at something. Yet here he was, standing over him and counting Layton’s intake of breaths per minute as if it truly mattered. Yes, things had changed quite drastically. This had started off as a simple game: Layton was a puzzle Descole just had to solve. Even Descole had to admit that Layton was better at solving puzzles than him.

How long would Descole be content to just keep this a game?

Sighing, he moved effortlessly and silently to the head of the bed. There were several ways Descole knew how to break the man lying before him. If he kept up his nightly visits, however, he might stop being willing to act on those weaknesses should he need to. He needed the distance between them to remain, though it was shrinking ever faster. It was almost so small that even Raymond was beginning to comment and accuse Descole of having an obsession. Descole could afford to obsess over anything other than his projects. It was time to continue his investigation of the great Professor Layton elsewhere.

“Time to move on, Professor,” Descole uttered. The professor didn’t stir. With his uninjured hand, Descole couldn’t resist ruffling the other man’s tawny hair one last time. He’d only done it a few times before, but even in those few times had managed to memorize the way Layton’s soft hair tended to curl at the ends. The sleeping Layton hummed in response, and Descole could just see a smile crawl across his slightly parted lips. His lips looked so . . . inviting (which was ridiculous because the man was asleep). He’d been tempted before, usually on the nights when Layton was fast asleep and didn’t even expect Descole to show (which was also ridiculous because the man made an effort to check in on him as often as possible). This would likely be the only opportunity he got to do the one thing he’d managed to keep himself from doing. The notion troubled him, but not as much as the idea that this could jeopardize everything Descole was working towards. Seizing the moment, he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to Layton’s. Layton hummed again at the feeling, but still didn’t stir awake. As Descole stood up, he realized there was a part of him that had wished Layton would awaken. Stamping out the thought, he prepared for departure. Just as he was about to leave, he caught sight of an outline of a familiar object: the top hat. With a smirk, he said to himself, “I suppose it won’t hurt to hide this one more time.”



Layton woke up the next morning feeling as though he’d lost something important, although he couldn’t even think of what that something might possibly be.

**Author's Note:**

> I can say with absolute certainty that the real slash happens next chapter. Also, the next chapter features not only Miracle Mask spoilers, but hints at Azran Legacy spoilers. You have been warned. Thanks for sticking with me.


End file.
